


Cathédrale Notre-Dame (1991)

by monicawoe



Series: How They Make You a Weapon [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assassination, Churches & Cathedrals, Gen, Gun Violence, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for this prompt: Christmas 1991. Objective: Asset is tasked with eliminating a HYDRA defector at Christmas Mass at Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris. Because of this location there are to be no witnesses. Recommended: a lethal injection of sodium thiopental. This requires asset to sit behind target for injection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cathédrale Notre-Dame (1991)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [luckyraeve](http://luckyraeve.tumblr.com/) for the translation help!

The air of the Cathédrale Notre Dame is heavy with the scent of old wood, incense, and the heat of people. The Mass is more than a sacred event, it's a tourist attraction, especially tonight. There are hundreds filing into the pews, all hushed tones and reverent awe. You walk amongst them, hands in your pockets, head down. Your fitted suit is tight around the shoulders and the pants lack sufficient pockets. You like pockets. Your weapons are hidden discreetly nonetheless—knives in your boots, and in the inner sleeve of your jacket, two guns in your chest holster, and two small syringes tucked under the lapels of your waistcoat. Grey gloves cover your hands, hiding the metal of your left.

Your target hasn't arrived yet, but per the chattering in your earpiece, he will soon. He's never missed a Christmas mass. You kneel by the side-altar, and watch the votive candles in front of you flicker—flames echoed in the gilded aedicule.

"Il est ici," says the voice in your ear. The target enters moments later, flanked by two bodyguards. Henri Dubois is tall and slim, and carries himself like a man secure in his safety--shoulders soft, arms loosely by his side. Should he become aware of your intentions, any physical resistance attempted will not pose much of a problem.

But Hydra didn't recruit this man for his combat skills. For over a decade, he designed weapons for them. Not guns or bombs, but chemicals--easily concealable and deadly. Amongst his designs are small, marble-shaped capsules, triggered by remote, that mix with oxygen to form a forty foot radius of a gas so toxic it kills in under thirty seconds. Recently those capsules have started appearing all over the globe—in the hands of those not sympathetic to Hydra.

Henri's bodyguards glance to the left and right, barely on alert. Why should they be? A church is a sanctuary, or so you seem to remember. You remove your right glove, dip your fingers in holy water, mimicking the motions of the others in front of you and follow them to the pews, keeping Henri in your sights. You time your steps so you're escorted into the pew behind his. The pipe organ sounds, filling the massive space with its deep pneumatic voice. The music resonates through the stone ground, prickling against the thick soles of your boots.

Singing begins, and the thousands gathered join in, _"Depuis plus de quatre mille ans, nous le promettaient les prophètes..."_

Prayers and more hymns follow, one after the other. The bishop delivers a sermon, in Latin, in French, in English. _"This Child was born for the benefit of us men, of us sinners…."_ Henri bows his head in prayer.

You bring your hand slowly to the folds of your lapels and pull out a syringe. _"… of all believers, from the beginning to the end of the world."_ The injector is air-pressure powered. There's no needle, you just need an open patch of skin. _"… for he is both God and man._ "

Henri hasn't moved, head still bowed, a strip of his neck exposed. _"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light…_ " You slide forward onto the kneeler, until you're only inches away, and bring the syringe up, cupped between your clasped hands. _"See, your salvation comes…"_ You bow your head, let your hands drop forward until the syringe tip is just a millimeter away from Henri's skin, then push the release button. Henri shrugs, reacting, most likely, to the cold of the tip more than anything else.

The bishop raises his hands in benediction. The parishioners reply, "Amen." Henri slumps forward, chin resting on his chest. He looks like he's still in prayer. Music breaks the stillness as the pipe organ plays anew, and the crowd around you stands, singing again—loudly, jubilantly. You make your way slowly out of the pew. The bodyguards haven't made a move yet, leaving Henri in peace. They'll notice soon enough. You head up the center aisle, and walk towards the side door, head still bowed.

Outside, the ground is covered in newly fallen snow. "Cible éliminée," you say, pushing down on the small microphone button in your suit cuff. _"Passez le message,"_ comes the response, not a second later. Your footprints stand out starkly as you cross the forecourt, but you're counting on Henri's bodyguards following you. At least one of them has to, that's part of the mission.

They don't disappoint. The door opens seconds later and both of them run out. Henri's dead, but their contract isn't. They were guarding the investment in the man, not the man himself. You wait for them to spot you, then run. Their boots pound, clumsy and loud, and you could outrun them easily if you wanted, but you don't. You need to lead them away from the cathedral.

One of them curses as he slips on the smooth, snow-dusted ground. Your boots have better traction, and when you reach the railing ahead, you leap over the side, onto the stairs, landing just in front of the gated entrance to the crypts. He fires a shot as soon as he reaches the railing, the other runs down the stairs, gun drawn. Their shots are muffled by suppressors. You dodge the first four shots, and block the fifth with your arm. The first shooter pauses, confused. It's the delay you were waiting for. You drop down into a crouch and pull one of your throwing knives, then dodge the next three shots from the shooter on the stairs and let your blade fly. It strikes him in his forearm, and he drops his gun, crying out.

You rush him, knock him to the ground as his partner bounds down the steps, firing a few more poorly aimed shots. You draw the gun from the small of your back, look over your shoulder and fire—one bullet straight between his eyes. He falls to his knees, then face-first into the snow.

"Fuck!" the remaining guard curses, scrambling away from you on his knees. His arm is oozing where the knife struck, blood staining his suit-sleeve shiny black. He fumbles as he grabs his gun with his other hand and raises it, aim steady despite his fear, despite his wound. He's been trained, but not as well as you.

You raise your left arm, let the bullets ping off the metal. One of them rebounds back towards him, skimming his already-bleeding arm. He flinches, eyes widening in horror. "Qu'est-ce que tu es?"

You walk towards him. He doesn't fire any more shots.

"Qu'est-ce que vous êtes?" he asks again, voice quavering as you grab him by the shoulders and shove him against the heavy doors leading to the crypts.

"Un soldat," you say, bringing your left hand up to his throat. You start squeezing your fingers until he can no longer breathe. "Hydra n'oublie pas. Dites-le à vos maîtres." You hold him there another few seconds, wait until the capillaries in his eyes start to burst and then drop him to the ground. He's unconscious, but alive, and he'll remember.

"Message delivré," you say into your mic, as you walk back up the steps, straighten out the cuffs of your sleeves and run your gloved fingers through your hair. The Mass is over, and the courtyard above is filling with people. You head back slowly into their midsts, towards the alley, towards your extraction point. The snow is heavier now, filling in the footprints you left behind until they disappear.


End file.
